Nocturne
by Anne Bowman
Summary: Picking up a mysterious hitchhiker on a dark road in the middle of the night can't be a good idea.
1. 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. :)  
  
  
The girl walked slowly down the soft shoulder of the road, her long, wet hair plastering itself to the sides of her face and her bare arms. She was in no hurry, despite the near-torrential storm; she would reach her destination soon enough.  
  
* * *  
  
The Chevrolet had lasted Bill through a thousand road trips, but she was beginning to protest, making noises about how this was gonna be the last time she hauled his sorry ass across the country and back. He couldn't blame the old girl; she was old and tired, and it was dark and wet and cold outside. He wouldn't have wanted to slog through it either.  
  
He blinked hard and repeatedly pushed "scan" on the radio, desperately searching for some human companionship. He had a hard night ahead of him if he wanted to reach Denver before noon. Nothing but evangelism and mariachi music. He sighed and took the last, wretched sip of the coffee he'd bought at a 7-11 several hours ago. The caffeine wasn't helping. He tried the radio one more time. Through the static a vaguely familiar female voice drifted in and out, singing an inoffensive pop song, the kind of music his wife used to like. "Dear party of the first part, it's time to draw the line..."  
  
He had to look twice at the figure standing beside the road to determine whether or not she was a late-night mirage. It wasn't that she was particularly pretty or exceptional in some other way, just that this wasn't exactly the kind of stretch of road where you'd expect to find a pretty young female hitchhiker at 4am.   
  
(It almost sounded like a porn movie, not that he ever watched those anymore. Gladys had thrown his collection away when she moved in, and for the most part he hadn't missed the tapes. Or the magazines. Or--well, never mind.)  
  
She was short, with long brown hair hanging straight and heavy with water over her shoulders. He felt sorry for her; there were no headlights behind him or ahead. His wife had always said don't pick up hitchhikers, but how dangerous could one little girl be? She could hardly be 17.  
  
"Where you headed?"  
  
"Colorado. I had a fight with my boyfriend and he left me out here like this."  
  
"Sounds like a great guy."  
  
"You're telling me."  
  
"You alone?" He looked around suspiciously. He'd heard this story before; she might just be acting as bait for some nefarious roadside grifter.  
  
"Yes."  
  
He nodded for her to get in, which she did.  
  
"I'm Bill."  
  
"Fiona Phillips."  
  
"What's your business in Colorado?"  
  
"I'm paying my grandmother a visit."  
  
He grinned at her. "Does that make me the big bad wolf?"  
  
Fifteen minutes later, the Chevrolet pulled back onto the pavement from the soft shoulder. She had to remind herself not to push the accelerator too hard; she would reach her destination soon enough.  
  
* * *  
  
--six hours ago--  
  
Ned had always hated driving in the rain.  
  
Especially at night, when tired eyes play tricks on unsuspecting drivers. Was that really a girl standing on the side of the road, desperately waving her thumb in his direction?   
  
The bus lurched to an abrupt stop, and he tried not to take pleasure in the irritation in Irene's voice when she came forward to investigate the source of everyone's sudden discomfort. "I thought you said the next rest area wasn't for 50 miles," she said flatly.  
  
"It's not," he answered, knowing it wasn't the answer she was looking for. He wasn't by nature a vengeful man, but at this point he wasn't in the mood to be forgiving. Their argument after the last gig hadn't been especially vicious; still, the lack of closure and her continued resistance to admitting what he felt sure must be the truth led him to be less laid-back than usual about this particular disagreement. She wasn't accustomed to arguing with someone who would hold up his end of the fight.  
  
She took a deep breath. "So why aren't we moving?"  
  
He opened the bus door so she could see the hitchhiker standing by the side of the road, soaked to the bone.  
  
Irene leaned in close, keeping an eye on the girl outside, who had not yet spoken. "No hitchhikers," she hissed into Ned's ear.  
  
"Oh, come on, have a heart for once," he snapped, getting out of the driver's seat and extending a hand to the teenager. She clasped his hand gratefully and stepped aboard.   
  
"Thank you so much," the girl said.  
  
"What on earth were you doing out there?"  
  
She smiled. "It's kind of a long story."  
  
"Yeah, well, we've got time," said Irene suspiciously. "Sort of."  
  
"I ran away from home."  
  
Ned couldn't be sure whether Irene had actually said "Oh, great" aloud or if he'd just expected that response.   
  
"Why?" asked Molly, who had suddenly appeared behind Irene.  
  
The girl turned around and lifted her shirt just slightly, revealing a criss-cross pattern of fresh wounds and old scars. Irene raised a disbelieving eyebrow, but Molly nodded as if a decision had just been made. "Where are you headed?"  
  
"Anywhere but here," the girl said, clearly relieved.  
  
"Let's go," Molly told Ned, and led the girl to the couch as the bus began to move again. "I'm Molly Phillips; that was Ned, and this is Irene." She looked at the girl expectantly.  
  
"Oh," she finally said. "I'm Becky." A pause. "Rebecca."  
  
Irene watched Molly closely to see if she registered any sort of reaction, but for once she kept a pretty good poker face.   
  
Jack and Fi hovered tentatively in the hall connecting their sleeping compartments, hesitant to interrupt but clearly dying of curiosity. "Guys," Irene said, plastering a smile on her face. "This is Rebecca. We're apparently giving her a ride to some unknown destination."  
  
"These are my kids, Jack and Fiona," Molly broke in abruptly. "Guys, this is... Becky."  
  
"Nice to meet you," Fi said, extending a hand.   
  
Thirty minutes later, Fiona and Rebecca were chatting like old friends about music and books and their shared hatred of all things math-related. Jack lingered in the doorway, partially to observe his sister looking even a little bit happy for the first time in weeks and partially because he hardly felt welcome in the boys' sleeping compartment right this second.   
  
Molly had promptly fallen asleep again on the couch, and Ned and Irene resumed their acrimonious silence.   
  
In fact, but for faint traces of the high-speed girlish chattering of Fiona and Rebecca, the bus was completely quiet.  
  
The silence was abruptly shattered by the brakes screeching to a halt. Irene rolled her eyes and headed forward once more. This time, Ned was all the way out of his seat, but didn't make a move to open the doors.   
  
"What now, a lost puppy?" she began, but any other words she was about to say died in her throat.  
  
Outside, the body of a middle-aged man lay prone in the center of the road, aligned neatly with the broken yellow line. The headlights of the bus illuminated the pool of blood that surrounded his head. He held a shotgun in one hand and a note in the other.  
  
Ned wrapped his arms around her as Irene buried her head in his chest.   
  
"What is it?" Molly asked.  
  
"Don't come here," Ned shouted. "Don't look. Keep everybody back there."  
  
Thankfully, she obeyed without question, ushering everyone else back into their compartments.  
  
"All right," Irene said, wiping her eyes and stepping back, careful not to look out the windshield. "I'll call the police."  
  
She disappeared in search of her cell phone.   
  
Appearing suddenly behind Ned, Rebecca began to scream hysterically.  
  
"DADDY!"


	2. 2

She stood there and screamed without words for what seemed like forever before somebody tried to stop her, but she wouldn't let herself be touched. Molly supposed she shouldn't have been surprised by that, considering the marks on the girl's body, but she hadn't expected her to resist so violently. She backed off quickly, her hands raised in surrender. Rebecca stopped screaming and turned away from the sight before her. She might have been hyperventilating, but Molly couldn't remember what the hell you were supposed to do for that. Something with a paper bag? Thankfully, Rebecca made a beeline for the couch and quieted herself down.   
  
The kids were being remarkably well-behaved; despite Fi's undoubtedly overwhelming curiosity, she had stayed in her sleeping compartment, as had the boys. Thank God. That just left Irene and Ned to hash out the details of the plan amongst themselves. She would stay out of it; she had to stay out of it. She couldn't go up there again, couldn't look outside. So she sat next to Rebecca, close enough to offer support, but not so close as to risk incurring her wrath again.  
  
"All right," Irene announced a few minutes later. "Ned's going outside. We're all going to stay in here. Just for now."  
  
"Shouldn't we call the police or something?" a small voice asked from the back of the bus.  
  
"No cell service." Irene held up her apparently dead phone as evidence.  
  
Fi nodded.  
  
"Could you use some help?" asked Carey, venturing out tentatively from the boys' compartment.  
  
"Yeah." Ned glanced over at Rebecca, who was still shaking slightly. He brushed past Irene to pat the girl on the shoulder awkwardly, feeling the sudden need to reassure her that he would be careful with her father's body.  
  
She grabbed his hand and looked up at him gratefully before he even said a word (which left Molly somewhat bewildered, to say the least.) "I'm sorry."  
  
"What could you possibly have to be sorry about?" he asked gently.   
  
The girl's eyes widened suddenly, and she tightened her grip on his fingers. "Don't--stop him! Please!"  
  
He removed her hand from his with unexpected agility--a side benefit from his stint as a bouncer some twenty-five years ago--and said, "Don't worry. Everything will be fine now."   
  
****  
  
When Ned returned about 30 minutes later, he handed over the man's wallet to Irene. Behind him, Carey was visibly shaken by what he'd seen, what he'd had to step up and help his father do--move a man's body, then raid it of its only remaining possession--yet Ned remained remarkably calm. She supposed this might not have been the first dead man he'd come across in his lifetime; then again, he'd always been good at keeping everyone else steady during times of emergency, so it wasn't surprising that if he were truly unmoved by this, he wouldn't let on. It was just the kind of man he was.  
  
"How am I supposed to know where this is?" she asked, examining the man's driver's license and growing more frustrated by the second. "This address could be anywhere."  
  
"He came from out of the woods," Ned pointed out. "From that direction. Maybe it's that way."  
  
"We can't just wander around in the dark looking for a house," Molly said suddenly, abandoning Rebecca on the couch and joining the adults' conversation.  
  
"You guys can stay here and watch the kids. Carey and I will search for the house."  
  
Echoing the sentiment expressed clearly in Carey's expression, Irene said, "No, no, no, no. Either we all go, or none of us do. I've seen this movie. Splitting up never works out."  
  
****  
  
Eventually they reached a compromise: Fiona and Rebecca (who was now asleep) would stay on the bus in case the police happened to pass by; the rest would split into groups and investigate different areas. At this proposal, Jack and Clu looked as through they would each rather swallow tacks that spend that much time in each other's company, so Molly took charge and assigned herself to Jack and Carey to Clu, which elicited only a slightly less unenthusiastic response from them both. She had never been particularly skilled at detecting the truth behind the truth, and now wasn't the time to dwell on what might be causing the tension between them, anyway.  
  
Ned and Irene headed off in the direction from which Rebecca's father had staggered. Clu and Carey began to walk ahead of the bus, in search of a road off the two-lane highway that might be the "Breid Rd." listed on the man's license. Molly and Jack took off in the opposite direction, in case they might have already passed the road.  
  
"Are you okay?" Molly asked. "I mean--all this, it's so terrible, and we haven't really had a chance to talk about it."  
  
He shrugged. "What's there to say?"  
  
"Well, it's just--"  
  
"Mom," he interrupted. "I'm fine. Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah. Of course."  
  
"Okay, then."  
  
They resumed walking in silence.  
  
Molly opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could get the words out, a scream rang out: "OH, MY GOD!"   
  
"It's Clu," Jack said, with surprising certainty. He took off running, and she yelled after him to stop; when he didn't, she cursed the unsteady terrain and her impractical footwear and ran after him.  
  
When she finally caught up, he had already joined Clu and Carey in gaping at something obscured by overgrown brush and weeds.   
  
"What is it?" she asked breathlessly, squinting in the dark.  
  
No one answered.  
  
"What the hell is going on around here?" murmured Carey.  
  
Only then did Molly get a good look at the body on the ground; a woman, old enough to be Rebecca's mother and the dead man's wife, staring back at them, her throat sliced.  
  
"If that's that girl's mother..." Jack began.  
  
"And the other guy really was her father..." continued Clu.  
  
"Fi," Carey finished.  
  
This time, Molly was the first to take off running. 


	3. 3

Fi looked at the four of them as if they'd gone mad when she discovered them outside, banging on the door of the bus and shouting her name. "What's the matter? Are you guys okay?" she asked, opening the door, allowing them to rush aboard one by one.   
  
"Where's Rebecca?" Jack asked urgently.   
  
"She locked herself in the bathroom right after you left. At first, she was making a ton of noise, yelling about stuff, but she's been pretty quiet for a while. Why?"  
  
"We think--oh, never mind," he replied, leading the others down the hall.  
  
"What?" she demanded, following them, but no one answered.  
  
"Rebecca?" called Molly, through the bathroom door. When no response came, Carey motioned for her to stand back, and then pushed hard on the flimsy door with his right shoulder. The door swung open easily, sending him stumbling into the bathroom and right back out again once he found the girl in question.  
  
"Oh, God," Molly breathed, turning away.  
  
"What is it?" Fi asked, her view blocked by the boys standing in front of her.  
  
"She's dead," Clu told her quietly.  
  
And she didn't ask any more questions after that.  
  
* * *  
  
The boys carried Rebecca out to rest beside the man she named as her father, the better to attract the attention of passing motorists, especially police. In the meantime, Molly tried to comfort Fi and explain the logistics of the plan that was swiftly forming in her mind.  
  
"I don't understand," Fi finally said.  
  
"She was disturbed," Molly explained gently, as if she were addressing a very small child, and Fi resisted the urge to snap that she wasn't a baby.   
  
"No, I mean I don't understand why we have to stay here while you go out there alone."  
  
"Well, once I find Ned and Irene, I won't be alone."  
  
"But what if you don't find--"  
  
"They couldn't have gotten very far. I'll be fine. The threat is gone."  
  
"I'm not so sure, Mom. The way she was carrying on--"  
  
"She was responsible for all of this," Molly pointed out.   
  
"I'm not so sure," Fi repeated softly.  
  
"Ready to go?" Carey asked, appearing suddenly in the doorway.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Are you ready to go get my mom and dad?"  
  
"Yes, I guess I am, but you're not--you're not going."  
  
"You can't go out there alone."  
  
"Once I find them, I won't be alone," she explained once more.  
  
"But until you do, you will be."  
  
"The danger is over, guys. That was it. Is she dead?"  
  
"Yeah," Jack said from behind Carey, coming forward to sit beside Fi on the couch.  
  
"Then I'll be fine. Seriously, don't worry about me."  
  
"Mom, he has a point," Fi pleaded.  
  
"I don't think it's a good idea for you to go out there alone, either," Jack piped up.  
  
"For what it's worth, I don't either," Clu offered quietly.  
  
"Well, it's not up to you guys, it's up to--"  
  
"I'm the second oldest person here," Carey said. "I'm going with you. Are you ready?"  
  
She opened her mouth to protest again, but sighed instead. "All right, let's go."  
  
* * *  
  
Once they settled on a direction and a strategy--sticking together rther than splitting up--they walked carefully through the dark woods for a while, armed only with a pathetically inadequate mini-flashlight.   
  
"So," Carey finally said, stepping gingerly through an area covered by dead leaves, feeling for holes with the soles of his shoes. "About what happened before. I--"  
  
"Oh, I see," she laughed. "So much for being concerned about my safety."  
  
"Seriously, I--"  
  
"Carey, do you really think now is the best time to have this discussion?"  
  
"It's the first time I've been alone with you in three weeks. Three weeks! You're really good at this."  
  
"Yeah, avoiding serious personal discussions seems to be my special skill. Maybe I should put it on my resume under 'hobbies,' next to tennis and jogging."  
  
"You play tennis?"  
  
She laughed again, and walked a little faster.  
  
"I just--"  
  
"I think silence right now is probably a really good idea. In case somebody's yelling for help."  
  
He whispered, "I just think that--"  
  
"Okay," she sighed, stopping completely but still facing forward, avoiding his gaze. "Look. There are so many reasons not to think about what happened, or talk about it, or ever do it again. It's been three weeks, Carey. We just need to accept that it was what it was, and, you know, move on."  
  
"Yeah, there are a lot of reasons that have everything to do with all of them, and nothing to do with you and me. I mean, was it really that bad? Were you feeling guilty the whole time?"  
  
She paused, then: "Here's a reason that has everything to do with me--I barely knew your mother when she found out she was pregnant with you, but that night I shared the last joint I ever smoked with her, and we sat on my floor and listened to Joni Mitchell."  
  
"That's anc--"  
  
"Shh. When 'Carey' came on, she said, 'That's it. That's the name.'" And I said, but you don't even know if it's a girl or a boy yet, and she said, that's why it's perfect. It could go either way."  
  
"I don't... what does that--"  
  
"That's why. Okay? I'm sorry."  
  
He nodded, looking away. "It's just... I mean, do you have any idea what it's like to finally get what you've always wanted, and then have it just taken away, for reasons beyond your control?"  
  
"Yeah," she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I do."  
  
And they began to move forward again, in silence.   
  
* * *  
  
Five hours or five minutes could have passed before they finally found the shack buried within the forest. Molly motioned at Carey to keep quiet, which he did, as they crept around the perimeter, searching for a window clear enough to look through. But it was she who let out a scream upon discovering the body.  
  
The meager stream of light produced by the keychain flashlight decided to fade away, succumbing finally to its hunger for fresh batteries. She squeezed her eyes closed and crouched down to meet the body face-to-face.  
  
"Oh, no. No, no, no." Irene's eyes were wide open, leaving little doubt as to her status. Her body was relatively clean except for the bruised imprints of ten bloody fingerprints around her neck.  
  
"Oh, my God," said Carey from behind her. Shock seemed to override their mutual ability to be truly distraught; that would surely hit them both full-force later. Right now, the primary question on his mind was simply, "Where's Dad?"  
  
Molly couldn't answer, as she was occupied with gripping Irene's wrist, searching frantically for any sign of a pulse, irrational as the instinct might have been.  
  
"I'm going to look inside."  
  
And she might have said "Be careful," or he might have imagined it. Either way, it would have been a particularly useless warning.  
  
"No, no, no, no, no," she began to mutter again, as he silently made his way around to the front of the house.  
  
* * *  
  
"No," she continued to insist some time later when he returned. The blood on his hands was not comforting, although she was similarly stained with the blood of someone else now, too. She looked up from Irene's stubbornly cold hands. "Did you find him?"  
  
"Yeah," he said distantly.   
  
"No," she said again. "Not him, too."  
  
"Yeah," he repeated.  
  
"No, no, no, no, no, no..."  
  
He helped her to her feet as best he could, although she was unsteady. She leaned against him, incapable of supporting her own weight, and out of habit he brought his hands together behind her back. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against his chest, unable to fathom comforting anyone else ever again. "No, no, no..."  
  
"Molly," he said, and she glanced up. But it wasn't Carey's eyes that met her own; no, he looked the same, but she couldn't be fooled. (Could she?)  
  
"Rick?"   
  
And he kissed her, and she didn't fight back, and she didn't ask any more questions after that.  
  
* * *  
  
"Where's Mom?" asked Jack as he opened the bus door to allow Carey to board.  
  
"She found a phone in this cabin we came across," he replied. "She sent me to get you."  
  
"Did you find your parents?" He suddenly noticed the blood on Carey's hands and arms, and the fact that his shirt was on backwards. "Hey, man, are you okay?" he asked with genuine concern.  
  
"No," he admitted. "You've got to come with me, and we can't let the others know that anything's wrong. Your mom... she doesn't want Fi to find out yet."  
  
"What *is* wrong?"  
  
"I'll tell you on the way. Just--come on, we need to get back. She's waiting for us. We have to hurry."  
  
"All right," Jack agreed, moved by the urgency of Carey's plea. "I'll just go tell Fi that we're leaving."  
  
"Don't tell her--"  
  
"I understand." 


	4. 4

Once they were alone, Carey made it clear that he wasn't in the mood to make conversation or answer questions. He walked quickly, always keeping several steps ahead of Jack, who supposed he was grateful that at least Carey seemed to know where he was going.   
  
"Hey, man," Jack finally called out. Carey glanced over his shoulder, and while it was pretty dark, Jack was fairly certain that was something like annoyance on his face. "I need a break. Seriously."  
  
"All right," Carey replied curtly, sounding authoritative for perhaps the first time in his life. "Make it quick."  
  
"Don't you think you could tell me what's going on now? Fiona can't hear us."  
  
"It's my mom and dad." He paused. "They're pretty badly hurt."  
  
"How? I mean--who could have--"  
  
Carey shook his head. "I don't know, man. I just don't know."  
  
Jack took a second to process the news. "Wait. You're saying you left my mom alone, with a killer on the loose?"  
  
"Yeah, so we'd better get going."  
  
"No," Jack said, standing slowly. "That doesn't make any sense. You wouldn't even let her leave the bus without company."  
  
"She insisted that I come and get you. We're going to need your help." He paused. "Well, I guess that's not entirely true."  
  
Jack fought his instinct to turn and run. This was Carey, after all. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It means," he began, coming closer as Jack remained frozen in place, "that I'm going to need your help now."   
  
"She isn't going to need help?" Jack asked, his voice low.  
  
Carey tilted his head and examined Jack sympathetically, then, as if addressing a five-year-old: "No, Jack. She's not going to need anything for a while." He reached out a hand, brushed an invisible insect from Jack's shoulder.   
  
And this should be the point in the story where Jack realizes something is terribly, horribly wrong, and begins to retreat at high speed. Instead he stood perfectly still. It was Carey who recoiled in horror.   
  
"Who are you?" he asked, as Jack began to advance.  
  
Jack simply smiled, and Carey found it difficult to muster the energy to fight. After all, when this was over, who would be left? There were Clu and Fiona, of course, and if he could find a way to overpower Jack--not Jack, though--maybe he could save them, too.   
  
Then he remembered the faces of the others: his mother, his father, Molly. Three loved ones gone, two by his own hand.  
  
And so he closed his eyes and surrendered.  
  
* * *  
  
"Jack, what happened?" Fi asked, when he returned to the bus. "We thought we heard screaming. Is everybody okay? Where is everybody?" She paused. "Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine, but we found some more... bodies out there."  
  
"We should go for help," Fi said decisively. "We can't just sit around here and wait for this person, this killer, to find us."  
  
"No. Mom found Ned and Irene. Splitting up was a really bad idea, so we need to go meet up with everybody."  
  
"Is everything okay?" she asked again.  
  
"Where's Clu?"  
  
"He's in the back."  
  
"Come on, go get him. I want to get out of here."  
  
"All right, all right."  
  
* * *  
  
The three of them struck out into the woods without even a tiny flashlight for illumination this time. "It's straight through here," Jack explained. "And it took about twenty minutes to get back to the bus from there."  
  
Fi and Clu nodded in unison, and walked quickly with their heads down. After a few minutes passed, Jack tapped Clu on the shoulder and began to hang back a little. He gestured for Clu to join him.  
  
"What is it?" Clu hissed. Fi continued to march on, paying little attention to either of them.  
  
"I have something to tell you," Jack whispered back.  
  
"Unless it begins with 'I'm' and ends with 'sorry,' I'm not interested, dude." With that, Clu began to walk faster, but Jack grabbed his arm again, pulling him backward.  
  
"I'm sorry. I am sorry. Honestly. Okay?"  
  
Clu nodded.  
  
"But that's not what I need to talk to you about."  
  
"What is it?" he repeated.  
  
Jack glanced at Fi and placed a finger over his lips. They stood very still, and watched Fi's form fade into the dark, formless tangle of branches.  
  
"Don't worry," Jack said. "We'll catch up to her in a sec."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Now," he sighed, "I know you're not going to understand most of what I'm about to tell you, but you will get the only part of it that's really important."  
  
Clu nodded solemnly.  
  
"I really am sorry, because you've done absolutely nothing wrong. The others--Irene knew, Ned knew, and Carey... well, that's a whole different story. But you're clean. So I'm sorry."  
  
"What are you talking about? What did they know?"  
  
"Shh. This is the important part. The reason for this is that I don't think Jack is going to be happy where he's going without you."  
  
"That's really nice of you, bro. I'm sorry, too, by the way. But..." Clu's confusion seemed to persist.  
  
"Shh," Jack said again. "This won't take long."  
  
* * *  
  
"Jack! What's wrong with you?" Fi demanded. "I've been walking back this way forever! How could you let me get so far ahead of you?"  
  
"Sorry about that," he said distractedly.  
  
"Where were you? And where's Clu?" Her eyes narrowed. "Do you really think now is the best time for--"  
  
"Fiona, I have something to tell you."  
  
"Okay, am I insane, or did I hear something about a killer running around out here?"  
  
"I'm serious. It's not--it's not what you think."  
  
She folded her arms across her chest. "Okay. What is it, then?"  
  
"We need to get back to the bus to have this discussion," he said.   
  
"You're freaking me out here, Jack. Seriously. If you have something to say, just say it. We need to go find Mom."  
  
"I know exactly where she is, and if you want, I'll take you to her when we're done, but right now, I need you to come with me."  
  
Normally she would probably argue until he relented, but there was something uncharacteristically somber about his voice. "Okay," she said. "Let's go." Pause. "But where's Clu?"  
  
"He went on ahead of us."  
  
"I didn't see him."  
  
"Come on, Fiona, it's practically impossible to see your hand in front of your face out here."  
  
"True," she admitted, and followed her brother back to the bus. 


	5. 5

"What is this all about?" she demanded, as Jack sat down in the driver's seat and gestured for her to sit beside him.

"We need to talk, Fiona."

Her heart stopped. "What did you find out there?"

He shook his head. "Not about that."

She regarded him suspiciously. "Jack, just tell me what you saw."

"Didn't you ever wonder why you never found the truth, after all the time?"

"Jack, I don't get it. You always--"

"Didn't you ever wonder why she never believed you?" He leaned across the gap between the driver's seat and the passenger seat. "That's just it, baby. That's the whole point. She _always_ believed you."

She lifted her eyebrows. "'Baby'?"

He smiled, and it looked as if he had never done it before. His lips stretched back across his teeth, awkwardly. "It's me, Fiona."

She rose and walked back toward the kitchen as if she were pacing, then turned to face him. "That's not funny, Jack. And, anyway, right now?" The tone of her voice gave her away, but she kept going. "Do you really think it's the time for jokes?" She glanced over at the kitchen table; someone had left a plate behind, complete with fork and knife. Maybe, if she could just…

"It's been a long time coming." He stood up. "I had to wait a long time for my turn in line."

"What's going on?" she asked, in a low voice.

"Your mother," he said, "_Mom_. She loved me because I was a good guy, you know? I'd never leave her. That's all I ever had to say to her. And it was true. I never would have." He came closer. "Turned out she left me first."

She opted to remain silent, backing away slowly, until there was nowhere left to go. He didn't seem dangerous, but this was all just way too weird.

"I just had this itch, this need to know. And the way it worked out--she could have helped me if she'd wanted to. Her mother, her grandmother... she only had to _ask_ them. But she wouldn't."

"Where's Jack?" she finally asked. He didn't even register that she had spoken. "I looked, and I looked. I had to know. Just like you. She closed her eyes." He shrugged. "And then it turned into jealousy."

"I don't understand what's going on," she tried.

He almost laughed. "She was so insecure. I liked that about her, in the beginning."

"Where is everyone?"

"She killed me, baby. That night, she begged me not to go, but I had to. After I left, she called good old grandma Fiona, always there in a pinch. Dropped you kids off with Irene and Ned, and the three _witches_ got together." He turned his gaze back to her. "So, you see, she always believed you. She knew it was all true."

Fiona shook her head, thoroughly confused. On the one hand, she needed to know everyone was still alive; on the other hand, here he was, in the flesh. Not the right flesh, but right in front of her just the same. He was babbling like a madman, but she knew he'd never hurt her. Then again, what had he done to Jack? Was Jack still in there? If he was, she couldn't see him at all; but that was how it had been with Bricriu, so maybe he was a spirit like that.

"I've been right here, right along with you, every step of the way. I've tried so hard to keep you safe, baby. Safe from them. Safe from her. I watched all of you. Jack turned his back on me early, but he forgave her everything. Ned and Irene never asked any questions. They must have known the truth. And Carey, well, he was just a kid back then, but now..." He shuddered.

"What _about_ Carey?" she demanded. "Where is he?"

"Oh, Fiona, I don't know how she could have done it to you. They were supposed to be her best friends. But everyone who ever loved her regretted it in the end."

Past tense. "Daddy," she managed to choke. "Where. Are. They?"

He smiled, more naturally this time. "You could say we traded places." He looked down at Jack's hands, sadly. "I hated what I had to do to him, to get to you. But I had to get to you. You're the only one who kept believing in me. I love you, baby." He reached out for her, hugged her close. She resisted the urge to scream, mostly because she suddenly found it very difficult to make any sound at all.

Jack withdrew from her abruptly. He looked into her eyes, and then down at his hands again. For the first time, she noticed that his fingers were dark, stained with something that might have been blood or dirt, or both. "What has he done?" he whispered.

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her mouth closed again, as if possessed by its own free will. Her eyes widened. "I'm sorry, Jack," she said, drawing closer. "You picked the wrong side, kid. But you'll be happy where you're going." She smiled, slowly, painfully. "I've made sure of that." She reached over toward the table and the discarded utensils with one hand, but kept her gaze on him.

He seemed to consider fighting, but just stood there and stared.

_Oh, Jack, I'm so sorry. I can't stop him. I can't stop it._

"I know it's not you," he said. "It wasn't me, either. I forgive you."

_I'll see you soon. I'm dead already._

"Tell your mother I said hello," she replied.

Jack closed his eyes.

---

"Fiona," she said aloud, driving down the dark highway in a battered Chevrolet. She glanced over at the crazy old man, whose body had slid almost entirely into the floor below the passenger seat. "You're not really dead, you know."

_I might as well be. If I could, I'd turn the wheel, drive this car into a tree. I can't do that. Ergo, dead._

"You're with me. It's what you always wanted, isn't it? It's why you looked for me, right? To escape from her?"

_I love my mother. I always thought you did, too._

She sighed. "It's complicated, baby. Love is complicated." To an outsider, she would appear to have considered this for a moment, although Fiona, trapped inside, heard nothing. "When someone kills you, it's a little hard to muster up any tender feelings toward them after that."

_Well, I know she loved you. She barely even dated afterward._

She smirked. "Really excellent choice she made, in the end, don't you think?" She shook her head. "A _kid_."

Silence.

"What, nothing to say about that?" She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. "They pulled my spirit before the car even crashed. It wasn't a mistake. It was her. It was all of them. Get that through your head." She returned her gaze to the dark road stretching out ahead. "_Our_ head."

_Don't you want your own body?_

"Maybe," she said contemplatively. "When our mission is complete. But I probably won't be able to trust you on your own for a while. You've lost a lot all at once."

_Whose fault is that?_

She scowled. "The answer to that question should become clear if you consider what would have happened if they hadn't conspired against me that night."

No response.

"That's right. We would have had a normal life. We would have been together. All of us. Forever."

_That doesn't make it right._

"It doesn't make it wrong, either."

They drove in silence for a while.

_I don't get it. How'd you do it?_

"Friends in high places. You know the guy. Bricriu. He helped me out, showed me how to do it. I watched you. I knew where you'd be. I picked a house, picked a body, and went for it."

_Those people were innocent._

"Oh, Fiona. The first thing you learn when you can see everything is that no one is innocent." She paused. "On a related note, we're gonna have to figure out what to do with this body," she said. "Not yours. The driver's. You're pretty little."

_Maybe you should have thought of that before you_ killed _him._

She scoffed. "Did you see the way he was looking at you? That guy never did anything good for anyone without wanting something in return, believe me."

_Ever think maybe omniscience has gone to your head?_

"Oh, ha ha." She looked at herself in the mirror again. "Speaking of things going to people's heads, ever think maybe you're just going crazy?"

_Excuse me?_

"Maybe I'm not even real. Maybe it's been you all this time." She shrugged. "Not like we've never seen it before."

_If you weren't real, I could control my hands._

"Maybe you are controlling them and you just don't know it."

_You're real. I never blamed Mom for what happened to you. Not even subconsciously._

"Well, you're right," she said. "But I can't help being a little disappointed, Fiona. You're supposed to question everything."

_Yeah, well, it's been a rough night._

"No kidding. Hey, why don't you get some sleep?"

_Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?_

"I'd never kill you, baby." She patted her left arm with her right hand. "I love you. After this is all over, we can go anywhere you want. Your choice."

_I want to go back to where you were._

"Now, hush," she persisted. "Get some rest. It's going to be a difficult morning for you." She smiled. "I'll sing you a lullaby, how about that?"

Some time passed.

"Over the river, and through the woods," she began to sing, very quietly. "To grandmother's house we go..."


End file.
